Still Crazy After All These Years
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: From Miss Maudie's POV, the night after the ladies' tea party. Atticus and Maudie pairing. Title borrowed from Simon and Garfunkel.


**Set the night after the Ladies' Tea Party (ch. 24). Maudie and Atticus pairing.**

**Still Crazy After All These Years**

_Four in the morning._

_Tapped out,_

_Yawning._

_Longing my life away._

Still Crazy After All These Years, Simon and Garfunkel

I knew it was him who was awake as soon as I saw the light on in the window across the street. He never could sleep when something was troubling him. I glanced at the clock on the mantle piece. To say that it wasn't exactly conventional calling hours was an understatement, but then I turned back and saw the light still flickering away in the Finches' window and it convinced me. At least I hadn't already put my nightgown on; I hadn't been sleeping so well myself.

Closing the door behind me, I glanced left and right before leaving the porch. Stephanie Crawford's lights were off- thank the Lord- and so I stole through the darkness across the street and into the dim pool of light cast out by the curtained window. I made sure to tap softly on the door so that it could only be heard downstairs; as proficient a hostess as she is, I somehow think that Alexandra mightn't look too kindly upon this call and I didn't want to wake either of the children. I glanced back over toward my house; there had been no reply yet, it wasn't too late to back down. But then the door clicked. I turned back around to find Atticus facing me in the doorway, still wearing his shirt, vest and trousers. I was right; he looked worn out.

"Maudie," he greeted me quietly, although not hiding his surprise at seeing me here at this hour.

I tried to give him an encouraging smile.

"I knew you wouldn't sleep," I told him, hoping it would offer sufficient explanation.

It seemed to. He smiled quite wryly, in the knowing way that he does. That he and I both do in alternating turns.

"Come in," he told me and I followed him down the hallway to the kitchen.

I must admit that I like the house better at quiet times. Earlier that day the seemingly harmless convivial chatter of ladies had buzzed into this room under the door from the next. It's harsher on the ears when you know its pernicious gossiping; the contrasting quiet that follows hours later is infinitely preferable. Even at well past midnight, Atticus remained a gentleman and held out the chair for me, pouring me a cup of coffee as well. I heard him sigh quietly as he took the seat at the other side of the table, where his own cup already sat. We both sat in silence for a few moments.

"I suppose if I liked whiskey I'd make for a slow and steady drinker," Atticus remarked rather dryly, taking a drink of his coffee.

His posture was hunched over and he lent his elbows crossed on the table. Although it was meant to be a joke there was too heavy a truth behind it. He looked worn down.

"You will tend to brood over things," I agreed. I meant it lightly and did not mean to sound accusing though I think I may have slightly.

He looked up at me from his cup.

"Maybe I ought to in this case," he said grimly, an air of indignant defence in his tone.

"Atticus, you did everything you could for Tom Robinson," I told him firmly, "Every mortal thing in your power. So don't think for a second that you're to blame for his death."

He remained dejected.

"I can't stand it, Maudie," he admitted softly, looking at the table again, "After the trial I told Alexandra that we have to let the children see what it's like out there so they can learn to cope with it, but after this I don't think I even want to cope with it myself," he paused for a moment, closing his eyes and rubbing his right eye under his glasses, "Is that wrong of me?"

Normally I would have probably told him straight that there was something mildly hypocritical behind it, but I didn't this time. He already knew there was and that was why he looked so broken sitting there.

"I don't blame you," I told him softly, reaching to rest my hand on his. I think the contact comforted us both.

He sniffed a little.

"I just... I just regret so many things about the whole case," he told me quietly. His thumb shifted over mine.

"You're only supposed to regret things in your control, Atticus. Otherwise we'd never stop."

That extracted a small smile from him, a little bitter but a smile nonetheless. He must have thought there was some truth in it.

"It's crazy," he whispered. His hand was covering mine now. "Crazy."

"Yes, Atticus," I agreed, "Yes it is."

I thought for a moment that he was going to weep. But Atticus never cries. It's not that he thinks himself to be above it, I think he'd consider it discourteous in front of a lady. However, the uncertainty of that little moment sent me out of my chair and around the table to Atticus. His confusion did not prevent me from wrapping my arms around his shoulders and holding him tightly to me. Leaning over him, I rested my chin carefully on his head. For a moment he seemed too taken aback to react at all, but after a few moments his hands gently closed around my arm at his neck. We swayed a little back and forth.

"I regret things too, Atticus," I confessed in little more than a whisper, "I regret that we can't change the way things are. I regret that an innocent man's dead and we could do nothing to stop it. I regret that everyone can't just know the truth about what happened. Don't get me started on all the things I wish I had or hadn't done through my life. But most of all, I would regret it if I let you let this ruin your life."

He was quiet for a moment. We were both very still. And then he bowed his head and kissed my wrist. It was my turn to be taken aback. I couldn't for the life of me think of what to say to it, and could only shuffle my hold on him so I held him a little tighter.

"That's another thing I regret," he told me, and I understood.

I understood everything from why he had let me know how he really felt about Tom's death to why he'd let me in in the first place.

"I love you, Maudie," he told my wrist.

I smiled down at him.

"Then you must be crazy too."

He looked up at me quite incredulously, and I took the way he tilted him face as an opportunity to plant a kiss at his temple, resting my face against his and continuing to hold him. I could feel his bittersweet smile next to my own.

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